


Toska

by Cherpov



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, kind of vaguely implied chekov/scotty/jaylah ish things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9118666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherpov/pseuds/Cherpov
Summary: "No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.” ― Vladimir Nabokov





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is one where I messed with the AOS universe and wanted to pretend Irina Galliulin grew up with Pavel Chekov as a childhood friend - and how to deal with the poetic concept that "the saddest word in the whole wide world is 'almost'."
> 
> [[Also kudos to you if you find the major metaphoric reference to TOS Irina Galliulin and the band of One.]]

Young Pavel Chekov was a child of the stars.

She knew this the moment she saw him, sitting at a desk by himself, drawing out the constellations of the night sky. Curious, she sat beside him, and let him tell her all about the universe – the spectrums of stars, the planets that looked like Russia and the planets that looked like strange new worlds, the way to calculate speed and distance between galaxies. He had his head in the clouds, and she gladly let herself be whisked away. As they grew, he would wax poetry about the physics that held solar systems together: the beauty of its spirals that circled in endlessly, pulled in by the gravity of the sun that shined upon them, the laws of motion that drew them all in endless orbits around each other. She felt herself falling for him then. But she knew she was a planet only meant to watch him burn from a distance, always following but never in his reach.

But his enthusiasm was contagious, and as physics dictated, she could not pull away. His mind was vast, almost as endless as the universe itself. They would go stargazing on the beach often – Pavel staring intently at the sky, pointing to the constellations he had once sketched for her. She would listen, always, but was far more enraptured by the light in his eyes. They would glow like the glimmering reflection of the moon upon the water, bright blue and as luminous as the fiery giants that sparkled in the night.

She knew then, as surely as her feet were planted on the ground, that he would never be hers, even if she was his. She was a child of the Earth, but he – he was up in the sky, reaching higher than the heavens, already flying among the brilliance of space above them.

 

* * *

 

 

They were only children, but her parents were very encouraging of their relationship. Her parents were far more old-fashioned, romanticizing the fantasies of soulmates and life long marriages. Their idealism gave her hope, and inspired her to explore her fanciful whims. She was, after all, but a child – imagining childish things, as was her right. He would hold her hand as they danced along the beach in the moonlight, would gift her with beautiful things depicting the universe he so loved, would let her into his mind that whirled almost as fast as a starship he so desperately hoped to be on some day. In turn, she would hold his hand, letting herself get lost in ideas of the future – that someday they would dance together in white, that he would gift their children with beautiful things as well, that he would love her as much as he wanted to fly.

Eventually, he got his wish. His father had received posting on the Mare Imbrium colony on Luna. She would visit every summer, and had to admit, the draw of space was enticing.

She did as any proper future wife would, supporting him in all he did. She helped him study his maths, tracing the equations that she didn’t quite understand as he rattled them off to her from memory, explaining what it was each part did. She helped him navigate the stars as they painted his constellations upon his wall, tracing routes between planets as he told her how to plot courses and avoid debris. She dreamed that someday he might hold her in his heart the same way he held science in his mind – but one summer, when she saw a stray stack of paperwork tucked between his books, she knew that day would never come.

That day, he would at least hold her – spinning her around as he laughed in excitement, gripping a letter so tight in his hands she thought it would crumble into dust. An acceptance letter, he told her. An acceptance letter to the skies, an acceptance letter to the stars.

He would be leaving her, traveling far away, to study at Starfleet Academy.

She did as any proper best friend would, cheering back with just as much excitement.

He was never meant to be hers, for his heart belonged in the vast unknown of space. But she would continue to be with him, if not by his side then in spirit, hoping only the best for him. He was brilliant, bright, and beautiful – he deserved everything he strove so hard for. And she would pray that he would achieve the greatness that was within him, that he would someday be able to soar among those things he so desperately reached for.

 

* * *

 

 

They wrote letters while he was away.

At least now he was back on Earth, only half a world away instead of half a planet. She continued to visit every summer, letting him take her around sunny San Francisco. They would explore the campus together: adventuring through the botany labs as if they were journeying through the deepest jungles, they would voyage across the city on different transports to see which could take them fastest and which could make them feel like they were time traveling, they would watch movies together – older ones on a holopad in his dorm room, newer ones at the most technologically advanced screenings in the area.

But sooner or later, he would be pulled back into his classes, and she would be pulled back to her home. And they would write – insignificant things, like the color of the water as the seasons changed, the thrilling gossip of local neighbors, the silliest things that they would dream about. Until one day, her parents sat her down, and later called up Pavel’s father, who later wrote to Pavel himself. A courtship, they declared. They wanted her to enter into a courtship with him. It was grand, it was magic, it was…

He didn’t reply to their requests. In fact, it took several months before anyone heard from him at all.

It was a single page that would up in her mail – so old fashioned, so spectacular. So omnious.

She read it diligently, though she knew in her heart exactly what he would have written. Life was unfair like that, most of the time. And sure enough, those two words she knew were true and honest stood out at the top of the page, in scrawled and shaky script.

_I’m sorry._

 

* * *

 

 

It was years.

And then there was word that the Enterprise – the pride and joy of Starfleet, the flagship, everything he had ever wanted – had come back for repairs, and Pavel, to the surprise of almost everyone, had returned.

He was hailed as a local hero, admired by all the young men who boasted of his greatness. He would smile politely, but they knew if was all a front. These were the same children who would cruelly tease him, chase him down the streets, call him nasty things whether he was around them or not. But it was better to let them pretend than cause a ruckus.

He visited her.

They spent the days lounging in her small apartment, overlooking the beach they had played on as children. They talked for hours, catching up in a cold and distant manner. She would talk of her job as a teacher, the stray cats she had adopted, her plants that tangled about the walls and ceiling. He would talk of his job as a navigator, the planets they had been to, the disasters they had narrowly escaped.

It all felt unreal. He hadn’t changed a bit.

 

* * *

 

 

Even in the months that passed as he stayed for extended leave, he was still the same.

They spent the nights recreating their childhood, running down to the frozen sands and splashing through the tide, dancing along the beach to the tune of waves being pulled by the magnetism of the moon. And she could feel herself spiraling back, being pulled by the magnetism of his ethereal freedom. They stayed there, laying upon the earth and pointing up at the stars, just as they had as children.

They laughed themselves hoarse, and then let the lull of conversation fade into a comfortable silence. The quiet and the darkness was safe, safe enough to begin to whisper secrets of their deepest feelings. He confessed that he had wanted to be with her, that she had become an integral part of him by the time he had left – that he had debated, weighed the pros and cons, of dropping out and coming back. He described the rollercoaster he had clung to, trying to figure himself out, before giving in to his heart and letting himself be guided further away. She confessed that she knew he belonged in the sky, flying high away from her – comforting him, that all was as it was meant to be.

It wasn’t much, perhaps. But it was enough.

 

* * *

 

 

And then, he was gone.

It felt like he had simply been a shadow of her imagination – a wraith that had flitted about in the corner of her mind, not a tangible being that had worked beside her, laughed beside her, slept beside her. She knew he would never be hers, and yet…

Something in her broke.

On an impulse, she left home. Her parents encouraged it, as they had encouraged everything else in her life, wishing her the best. They promised to watch her home, to ensure its upkeep, for whenever she came back. If she ever came back.

And then, she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

She threw herself into life with reckless abandon, letting the wind carry her, letting the waves toss her. She hungered for all that the world had to offer, grasping at all that came within her reach. She indulged in adventure, journeying across countries, exploring the continents. She longed to satisfy her heart.

She set herself on fire, letting herself burn with her every desire, letting herself burn as bright as he did.

She lost herself in the ruins of cities, let herself chase visions through the empty twists and turns of backroads and alleyways, hoping to find someone who felt like moonlight, as light and untouchable as he was. Eventually she caught herself up with a small group of runaways, a group that flit after meaningless philosophies and bitter truths. And for a moment, it felt like she had found home.

She followed them where they went, and once there was nothing left of their world, they wished themselves away to another. They jumped from planet to planet, cascading through stars, swimming through galaxies. She was a shadow dancing in the space between stars, supporting their light by expanding the void within her.

 

* * *

 

 

Her parents sent her childhood pictures for her birthday. And as she looked at the photos, reality shifted around her. She was empty, and nothing could fill her. She wasn’t chasing after what she wanted – she was simply running from what she needed.

They abandoned her to Starbase Outpost Earhart, without a single goodbye. They simply were, and then they were not.

She managed to support herself, building back from the ashes of the life she had razes to the ground, fancying herself a phoenix rising from the flames. In her final act of impulsiveness, she forwarded the pictures to Pavel, hoping he would find something in them. Not what she had – never what she had. But hopefully something, none the less.

A few months later, an unexpected knock came to her door.

He stood before her, worried lines etched into his face, purple bruised beneath his eyes.

She smiled, and let him in.

 

* * *

 

 

“Your parents have been nervous. They told me they did not know where you were, but if I saw you, to let them know. It sounded bad. What happened to you, Irina?”

She weaved him her story, in the same way he had once weaved stories about the stars.

“I am glad you are okay.” He held her close, wrapping his arms around her. Her heart did not skip.

“You look good in gold,” she replied, holding him just as tightly. “I always knew that was a good color for you – the color of the sun.”

“The sun?” he repeated, lips quirking into a grin.

“Yes. You shine just as brightly. I expected no less from you.” She pulled away, beaming. A hand came up to his face, trailing down his jaw as she studied the corners of his eyes, the pale of his cheeks, the curve of his lips.

“You are different,” he said with a slight tilt of his head.

“You are too,” she answered back, letting her hand fall to her side.

He stayed with her during his leave, just as she had always stayed with him in summers, and as he had stayed with her on his last trip. But this time, she led him about – through the gardens that blossomed with flowers in vivid reds and oranges, through the deepest and darkest depths of the seedy and sordid recreational halls, through a simple game of dom-jot.

They did cross paths some of his crewmates. Sulu, whom she had met several times at the academy, waving with an awkward smile whenever they saw each other, and Uhura, whom she had also met several times at the academy, striking up odd conversations for the few moments they could spare. She had heard plenty of stories about Kirk and Spock and McCoy, but seeing them interact was an experience in itself. Kirk waggled his eyebrows at her, and McCoy frowned in suspicion – and her thoughts as to why were quickly held true, as the Vulcan dragged the two away with mention that _Mister Chekov_ was an honorable crewmember already committed to _others_ , so she couldn’t possibly be whoever they thought she was.

To which _Mister Chekov_ turned a lovely shade of pink, nodding sharply as the three walked away.

“ _Mister Chekov_ ,” she drawled, hooking her arm in his. “You must introduce me to your _others_.”

He laughed awkwardly, guiding her down a corridor towards the ship docks, leading her onto the Enterprise. They spoke in hushed undertones of Russian, giggling and smirking at those who caught sight of them and watched curiously, enjoying their connection that set them apart. Two against the world, just as it had once been. Eventually they arrived deep in the bowels of the ship, among the towers of machinery.

And then she met Scotty and Jaylah.

Her heart settled cozy into her chest, life tilting on its axis once again. Pavel introduced her to them, and she caught the tilt of their heads as they studied her the same way Pavel studied mathematical equations. Just as curious, she asked why they weren’t enjoying time off the ship – and was immediately pulled into a tumultuous ride through the entirety of Engineering as they babbled about what they were fixing. She saw the way their eyes lit up, glowing like the moon, shining like the stars. They wove their words around each other, starting and interjecting and finishing ideas, dancing around each other as they darted this way and that.

She knew then that this, this was what she never could have offered him.

This was where Pavel had found home.

Eventually, they came to the end of the Engineering deck. She gracefully bowed out, not wanting to disturb their recalibrations, knowing it was better if they finished sooner so they could spend time with Pavel. With a smile and a wave, the two left, and she led her friend back to her own home.

“I am happy for you,” she said with a deep sincerity.

“I wish for your happiness as well,” he started hesitantly, reaching out and twining his hand in hers.

“I am going back to Russia.” He squeezed gently.

“Earth is quite far away.”

“It is.”

A silence lulled between them, a comfort to her thoughts.

“I am lucky I got to see you then. I was afraid I would never see you again.” He pulled her other hand close, holding them at his chest. “I do not know where I would be without my wonderful Irina.”

“Still flying among the stars,” she answered with surety. She looked at him, making sure to catch his gaze before continuing. “It’s alright, you know.”

“What?” he asked, though she could see the guilt welling up beneath his expression.

“I love you.” She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I love you. And you love me.”

“I will always love you,” he insisted. She couldn’t help but huff in contentment.

“I love you,” she repeated. “But you were never meant for me. And I was never meant for you. Your home is here, up in the vast universe, with your funny little family. My home is there – back in Russia, with my own family.”

“But you are here now.”

“I am.” She nodded, glancing at their hands. “It is like that physics you like so much – I was the planet orbiting around your star. I could not help but try and follow.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” she insisted, this time pulling him closer to her. “You saved me.”

“How?” he asked, laughing in disbelief.

“You saved me from myself. Newton’s Third Law of Motion: an object will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. Yes?”

His brow furrowed in confusion.

“I wanted you so badly,” she said. “I wanted you so badly that I lost sight of myself. And then you were gone, and I – was free to find for myself what it was that I needed.”

“And that is not me.”

“It is not you.” She looked around the room. “It is not here, either.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, sighing.

“I will miss you.”

“We will always miss each other.” She slipped away from his grasp, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a gentle hug. “But you will know where to find me. We will see each other again.”

“Ah,” he mumbled, burying his face into her shoulder. “I feel as if this is goodbye.”

They stayed embraced, letting the moment sink in. Eventually – as if reading each other’s minds – they let go.

“It is never goodbye,” she said. “We are not ending anything.”

He grinned, tears in his eyes.

“Oh?”

“No,” she repeated with a smile. “Don’t your scientists contradict themselves, by saying that time is both real and illusion? If past and present and future all exist together, then we are still together. But if not, then every moment is new – so life is just beginning.”

He burst into a fit of laughter, and she couldn’t help but join.

“Even after all that I taught you, you know nothing,” he told her teasingly.

She shrugged.

“It never really was my thing.”

“Then what is ‘your thing’?” he asked. She tweaked his nose, pushing him back towards the door.

“That is something I am going to find out.” She looked him up and down, memorizing him.

“You will write what you find?” he asked with tentative confidence.

“Always.”

 

* * *

 

 

When she had reached her home, she settled on her couch, enjoying the planets still reaching out across the ceiling the way Pavel had reached out across the stars, content for her stray animals to curl against her and splay across her lap the way she herself curled up to see the sun outside her window splay across the beach.

Outside, the chimes were carried and tossed in the breeze, ringing bright and clear, and all was right in the world.


End file.
